


Tribute

by Dangereuse



Series: Tomarry D&D-athon [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Mighty, Harry is short, M/M, Tom DOES NOT volunteer as tribute, Tom's beautiful face gets him in trouble, god!harry, then his snarky mouth, translation errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangereuse/pseuds/Dangereuse
Summary: Translation errors are the best errors, especially when they end up with Tom tied up as tribute to his village's god.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Tomarry D&D-athon [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692079
Comments: 12
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

The whole village is celebrating. It’s Imbolc. Baskets and baskets of goods are being piled at the feet of the shrine of the village’s god. Everything is wonderful in the new light and warmth of spring. Celebration all around.

Except for Tom. Tom is currently tied to a pole, arms behind his back, getting a chill because it’s not quite warm enough to wear this ridiculously thin shift. _He can see his own nipples_ through the sheer cloth. The _whole_ village can _see his nipples_. 

He’s nearly spitting with rage. He’d spent the first half of the morning verbally eviscerating anyone who came within twenty feet of him. But now his mouth is dry, and more importantly, the villagers threatened to gag him if he kept it up. Tom wants to be able to call for help when the ‘god’ inevitably leaves him to die of exposure.

Bella gives him a jealous look as she lays down her family’s offering. She’s still upset that the villagers voted near unanimously that Tom was the prettiest, and her pout is ridiculous. “I’d happily trade places with you,” he clips, at her. She huffs at him, and turns away. Tom fists his hands behind his back and breathes in and out.

He _hates_ being ignored.

***

It’s a long time before the villagers lay the last offering. Tom’s shoulders are aching, the muscles pulled back for too long, even if he’s tried to keep up circulation by moving and clenching his hands.

He’s wondering if it’s worth the hit to his pride to slide down the pole and sit. But the ground is dewy still, and he doesn’t want to get even more chilled. Plus, this is the only outfit he has, sheer and ridiculous as it is, and he refuses on principle to ruin it.

The forest gets louder the longer the villagers are gone, and Tom tries to focus on the bird calls so his mind doesn’t chew itself up from sheer boredom.

Then the forest goes silent. Pressure builds in Toms ears like he’s underwater. His body reflexively holds its breath.

A huge shadow casts itself from the forest. The ground thunders with each step. Tom can’t bear to look, to see–

“Er, who are you?”

Tom blinks, and the voice is in front of him. The god is tiny, only up to his chin. He’s sleekly muscled and broad in the shoulders, his legs stocky and strong, skin golden under the sun, green eyes glowing so deep and so bright with what can only be magic, and _he’s shorter than Tom_.

Tom blames _that_ for _this_ :

“I’m your requested tribute,” he drawls, insouciant, fluttering his eyelashes. “The prettiest bedwarmer.” Tom bares his teeth with a vicious snap, trying his best to ruin the effect of the flowers in his perfectly curled hair, the rouging on his cheeks and lips. The gossamer robe. His heart is beating so fast he’s not so sure he’s breathing.

The god blinks at him. 

Then he breaks out in giggles, bending over at the waist, unable to keep his mirth in. His messy hair flips around his face, garishly uncombed.

Tom’s never been so offended in his life. “Am I not fine enough for your divine eyes?” He snarls. “Is my hair too dark? My skin too pale? Or would you have preferred a _woman_?” Tom will happily storm back to the village right now, and request they send Bella in his stead. 

The god pulls himself up, puts the back of his hand over his mouth. His veridian eyes are dancing, still. If Tom’s hands were free he might punch him right in his impish face. Bad enough he’s been ejected from his hard-won apprenticeship with Master Scribe Slughorn because of the fairness of his face. But to be found _wanting_ by the god? Tom is _exquisite._ His face is a miracle. His body a triumph. How dare this short little god–

“No, no and no,” the god chuckles a little, unable to stem it all. “I couldn’t have picked a prettier mortal.” Tom’s pride is barely salved. He scowls.

“And–if I’m to _dally_ ,” the god’s eyes dance, trailing head to toe over Tom in his translucent shift. “I’ll pick a male companion, nine times out of then. You’re very fine.” He pauses, smiling bright and mischievous. The glow of his eyes is magnetic, the pressure of his gaze heavy on Tom’s skin. “Extremely nice to look at,” he repeats, words weighted with desire, and Tom sniffs. Finally, the appreciation he deserves. 

“It’s just…” The god makes another huffing laugh, bending over half at the waist, unable to hold it in any more. Tom’s certain there are tears coming from the corners of his eyes, and he doesn’t know whether to be alarmed.

“ _I asked for the finest blanket!”_


	2. Bonus!

“Well,” Harry said, laying on Tom’s chest and idly playing with a reddened swollen nipple. The skin of their bellies were tacky and rapidly becoming glued together, but Tom’s knees were still shaking and he couldn’t quite move. He carded Harry’s hair with soft, uneven pats. It was the softest thing he’d ever felt, an ebony cloud in his hand. “I got the idea from Hermione. She’s the god about three counties over. She wanted a little creativity from her mortals, and asked for a quilt. Mortals can make such beautiful art. They’re creative on a timescale that seems almost incompatible with godhood. I can’t imagine how many years it would take me to create such a thing.”

Tom whined a little in his throat, not sure if he was agreeing or complaining about how oversensitive and overworked he felt.

“That’s why I asked for a competition. The finest blanket.” Harry paused in his play of Tom’s nipple and made a wide expansive gesture. Then he laughed. The sound made the clearing ring like the great wrought brass bells above the shrine. “Well, I suppose I got you.” His eyes sharpened, grew mischievous. “I can’t be too upset at the poor fellow who transcribed my runes. You’re very pretty to look at, and you’ll warm my bed quite nicely, I think.” Then his mouth dove down where his hand had been and Tom gave an exhausted groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to tndz12!


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